


Never know what you would find

by kira892



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, dancestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kira892/pseuds/kira892
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You met him during the early days of winter, halfway through the semester. To be more precise, you met his foot. It made quite an impression, which is really quite impossible for it not to since it came out of nowhere and bashed you on the side of the head before leaving you with a minor concussion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In which the phrase "when you're not looking for something, it'll come hit you when you least expect it." is given a more literal meaning."
> 
> This thing was originally meant to be a oneshot but mutated and expanded until it stopped at 18 and a half pages. That said, I've decided to split it up into a threeshot instead. 
> 
> To everyone waiting on the update to tangledstuck, my apologies and I present to you the reason for the hiatus XD
> 
> give it a read?

You met him during the early days of winter, halfway through the semester. To be more precise, you met his foot. It made quite an impression, which is really quite impossible for it _not_ to since it came out of nowhere and bashed you on the side of the head before leaving you with a minor concussion.

You were fresh out of university at that time and had just landed yourself into the threshold of a promising career.  Aradia figured before you become a nocturnal recluse who lived off of concentrated energy drinks she should demand that you come see her so you two can celebrate and she could congratulate you in person. Though the two of you had only broken up a few months prior, she was still irrefutably your closest friend and the slightly awkward tension that gripped the two of you for weeks was all but gone at that point. So you figured, hey, why the hell not?

That year, the senior theatre and dance majors decided to band together for a musical or something. You weren’t sure but you figured that’s what it probably was since dancing was involved. You knew less than jackshit when it came to the performing arts.  Aradia was majoring in photography and she and a handful of other fourth years took it upon themselves to take pictures of the production for some reason or other. It’s really hard for you to remember the details, because as was mentioned, you kind of got kicked in the head really hard and passed out a bit after.

It was late in the evening and you’d just gone inside the dance studio, looking for Aradia. She was supposed to meet you at your apartment 3 hours prior so the two of you could go out for a nice dinner and chat about your shiny first job. However she made the call before some conflict in schedule rose up and kept her stranded in campus for 6 more hours. You walked in right in the middle of a routine rehearsal so instead of bothering anybody, you whipped out your phone and started texting Aradia about her whereabouts.

Really, _really_ poor choice on your part. Well, perhaps not the texting, the texting while _walking_ was.

Perhaps you weren’t entirely at fault however because you were practically hugging the wall of the studio as you walked past. And he, or any dancer for that matter really had no business being that far out back from the rest of his troupe. 

You remember the blow to the head, perhaps the by-product of a truly ill-misplaced high kick, and nothing more.

When you came to, you were in the back of an ambulance with Aradia by your side. She kindly informed you that you were the victim of an unfortunate accident and the stupid asshole responsible for the drill you felt boring through your brain and the unnatural, spinning state of everything in your sight, had fled. She told you it was because he really, really couldn’t stay long enough for you to regain consciousness and apologize but since you were disoriented and dizzy and you felt like your head was just used as the ball to a titanium bat, you figure that the douchebag was simply a grade A shithead.

It was maybe a week and a half until you properly met him…err…well, you properly met his legs.

Given what happened the last time you were in their performance space, you were really hesitant to go but the pseudo theatre company that caused you a small brain injury insisted that you come see their show. As if that would really make up for it, you don’t even like theatre. And besides, the pleasantries were pure bullshit. You were tempted to assure them you won’t sue anybody so they could just stuff it up their ass but Aradia assured you they had no ulterior motives in inviting you. She herself also insisted that you come, going on and on for minutes on how amazing the show has come to be after all the grueling process of production and rehearsals. So, despite your better judgement, to the show you went. You give Aradia a ride there and stood around backstage awkwardly while everyone involved bustled about getting themselves ready. The director, co-director, choreographer and all the higher ups practically assaulted you once Aradia made the mistake of formally introducing you to them. You had to subtly abscond just to end the string of “we are so sorry”-s and “thank you so much for coming”-s being thrown at you.

You haven’t even gone 7 steps before you tripped on a stray prop. Your face would’ve gotten a free nose-reformation surgery courtesy of the floor if his shins hadn’t stopped its momentum.

“Hey! Watch it you retarded asswipe!”

They might’ve been better than the floor but still, _god damn_ his shins could probably kick holes through walls. You looked up, trying to look as disgruntled as possible with your glasses half knocked off your face and rubbing at your nose.  You opened your mouth to release a doubly rude, equally spiteful retort but found yourself only capable of nothing else but staring with your jaw hanging the slightest bit open.

In front of you stood a young man who, in the most concise, albeit crude manner of speaking; had a totally drool-worthy, _fucking hot_ , rocking bod. He wore little else other than shiny, skin-tight dance shorts, orange body paint and feathers. His hair was spiked up and sprayed down with crimsond temporary hair-dye and he peered down at you through glaring paint smeared eyes. You prided yourself on being able to speak at all even if it did take you more than twice the time any normal person would. Trust you, it was no easy feat considering your face was about three inches away from his (sweetjesus let medroolonyou) thighs.

“-ey, -uck you!” you said through your fingers as you picked yourself up from the floor, rubbing at the sore spot on the bridge of your nose. The second you were back on your feet, you were perhaps a little too aware of the inches you have on him (which was quite a bit, god, his lips were in line with your chin) and the fact that _oh hello_ , his chest and abs look even _more_ sinfully perfect from this angle. Despite wanting nothing more than to ogle him shamelessly, he was still a rude asshole and he was glaring up at you defiantly, mouth twisted into an irritated scowl. Stubbornness was clear in every angle of his form, this was a person who was as blunt, thick and as immovable as a brick wall. That’s when you realized what the make-up and feathers was supposed to fool the audience into thinking he was. A phoenix. It was very fitting in a handful of ways.

He opened his mouth to take another snipe at you but before he could, one of the directors was already there, smacking him on the arm and hissing exactly who you were and why he should shut the fuck up and apologize to you that second. The irritation faded from his face so abruptly it would’ve been comical if it didn’t all rush back a second later. He looked less like he was ready to fight when his attention drifted back to you however. It was astounding how a hunch of shoulders and the lowering of a chin made him go from angry phoenix to unhappy orange duckling. You had to smirk when he bit out a muttered apology like a petulant 2 year old before stomping away at a rapid clip.

He was hot and all but you didn’t expect him to make an impact on you at all until about half an hour later. You sat on the fifth row with Aradia where the view was good and the aesthetic distance was even better. The latter, not even the proudest could refuse to admit, made him look _phenomenal_.  He danced exactly like you would’ve expected him to; aggressive and relentless. His every move was packed with power, overflowing with passion. You barely even paid any attention at all to how interestingly flexible he was or how much more alluring his body looked with muscles in motion or pulled taut while frozen in an arabesque or a standing split. (Though you _did_ notice those details mind you) He danced like he was a living painting, the human embodiment of the mythical creature he was playing. You never really saw the stories dance were supposed to tell until you saw him do it.  Aradia’s soft chuckle was the only thing that bought you back from the stupor induced by the ethereal douchebag on stage.

“He’s amazing isn’t he?” she asked.

You made a non-committal noise that wouldn’t have fooled anybody seeing as how your eyes remained glued to his every move as you did it. “He’s still a prick. What’s his name anyway?”

You could hear the knowing little smile in Aradia’s voice before she even answered. “Karkat Vantas. He’s the guy that kicked you in the head.”

“All the more reason to like him.” You said with a mock sigh, doing a slightly exaggerated pretend swoon into Aradia’s shoulder. She simply giggled and patted you on the head. “It’s okay, you could admit it. No one would judge you, I mean the he is pretty hot. A little young though.”

“Uh…what?”

Aradia grinned that rare little creepy smile that she’d grown to utilize more and more since meeting Rose Lalonde during her freshman year. “Not all the people on that stage are 4th years you know.”

She outright laughed at the slightly disgusted poker face you threw her way and patted you on the cheek twice. “Relax Sollux, he’s 21. I think? He’s in his third year so he should be at least 20 and a half. You’re only 24 right?  He’s perfectly legal!”

You thwacked her gently on the side of the head. “I don’t care if he is dumbass. His age is of no relevance to me, whatsoever. It’s as insignificant and irrelevant as the terms of condition and ‘are you above 18?’buttons on fanfiction sites.”

Aradia shrugged but that all-innocent, angelic Aradia-style shit-eating grin remained securely plastered on her face.

When Aradia dragged you backastage after the show, you told yourself that you weren’t- _didn’t_ look for him. Karkat Vantas just so happened to be the first person you saw and he also was coincidentally just a few feet away. That time, _he_ ran into you when he stepped away from the costume rack he was just hanging up his measly excuse of a costume on. (It’s irrelevant to note that said costume rack was all the way across the room from where you stood. You had long legs, your measurement of distance deviated from the norm) He whirled around when his back collided with your chest, mouth twisted in a scowl.

You fully expected him to yell at you and tell you in so many unnecessarily rude, cruel words that you were mentally deficient but the moment he saw it was you, you could almost swear he literally bit his tongue.

You raised your eyebrows , greedily drinking in how unfairly attractive he still looked with his artificial flames and feathers removed. His hair looked like it was hastily scrubbed down and stripped of red dye with damp paper towels. It looked like limp, black kelp that was dumped and ruffled on his head, hanging down from all sides in dark snarls. His muscled physique was covered up by a ratty gray hoodie and baggy, black cargo pants. It almost gave off the illusion of him being skinny as well as tiny if one didn’t look close enough. That being said, with most of him covered up, it wasn’t his body that made him attractive now, it was his face.

Sharp, strong jaw, high-bridged nose, not too narrow as to seem almost feminine, round eyes framed by thick brows and long lashes; he was the definition of handsome, the brooding prince ancient, non-kid friendly fairytales talked about. And it was really, _really_ unfair that one person could have that much. Even if his personality did seem to be lacking big time, his looks surpassed making up for what he lacked so much that it just made him more irritating.

“What do you want?” he barked, eyeing you up and down curiously.

“Am I not allowed to properly meet the prick who claimed me as his kick and run victim?”

An embarrassed flush flared across his cheeks like pink ink on paper. And you didn’t know if it was because he was ridiculously embarrassed or if his skin was just so pale that even the tiniest blush would be easy to see.

“If you’re here for a formal apology, you’re about as naïve as a butthurt, cisgendered, white, 14 year old twihard girl who got her shit-excuse for literature trashed by the flawless logic of sane people.”

That’s when the adolescent in you cried ‘WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE??!’. You hastily shushed it and went about carefully constructing your response to keep the conversation going like a civilized person.

“You did great up there. You’re an amazing dancer.”

His mouth was already opened into a half scowl before you could say your last syllable and you couldn’t help but smirk as his expression fell like a ton of bricks. “Y-…what?”

Your smirk grew wider, immensely pleased for catching him off-guard. You knew how to handle rude, short-tempered brats like him and by the dawning look of intense irritation on his face, he knew that too. How can you not? You were exactly like him.

He narrowed his eyes at you and after a long moment of contemplation, hissed out a “Thanks…now try saying the not passive aggressive bullshit version and maybe I’ll consider not kicking you in the head on purpose”

He’s surprised when you burst out laughing.  God, your brief love-hate fling with Eridan when you were younger would’ve been buried under the magnitude of the out of control, frazzled, witty snark-spiked hurricane of a relationship you would’ve had with this kid if you met him when you were his age. You could imagine it so well now, it was ridiculous. If you were still the you 4 years ago in this moment, you would’ve fired back the sharpest insult your douche reflex would’ve come up with to what he said. Then you’d stand there for 15 minutes indulging him in his need to shrivel people up with cutting words, which you also happen to have, all the while denying with every particle of your being that you find him attractive. Then maybe you’d hit him up a month or two later and somehow manipulate him into being your hate-friend. Then, when your adolescent brain lets the hormones take over, you’d perhaps jump him in the middle of an argument and bam! You’re awkward, friend-rival fuckbuddies.

Fortunately, you’ve grown out of that horseshit and now you just cut to the fucking point.

So you put your hand on his shoulder and leant down, ignoring his squawk of surprise and putting your mouth right next to his ear. “I know less than squat about dance but even I could tell that you have the body of a real dancer and the moves to go with it. No bullshit, you were great up there tonight.”

He twitched, halfway between tensing up and letting a small shiver clamber down his spine when you touched your cheek to his and dabbed the corner of your mouth against his skin, giving him one of those stupid faux-kisses old ladies and people in the entertainment business give each other. You pulled back and flash him a hybrid of an aggressively flirtatious smile and douchey shit-eating grin

You weren’t sure if he looked like he was spooked, or if he was just trying really hard not to seem flustered. You decided a second later that it was both and like a child with a crate full of bubblewrap, you couldn’t resist pushing more of his buttons until you were satisfied. You thanked the god of coincidence, if such a ridiculous deity even existed, that Aradia was weird enough to return the slip of paper she made you write your new number on instead of throwing it away and you never took it out of the pocket of the pea coat you were too lazy too wash.

You lowered your tinted designer shades to wink at him as you reached over to slip the piece of paper into the pocket of his hoodie. Your hand brushed against his stomach and even through the thick fabric of his hoodie, you die a little bit on the inside to know that his six pack was rock hard and totally legit.

Karkat hastily pulled out the paper with your number on it, looked at it, stared, looked up at you and began to sputter incoherent nonsense. You just grinned back in response, waved and walked away.

Giving him your number was an impulsive decision fueled by the fact that you wanted to fluster him more. Which was a fact you realized, a few weeks later when you grasped that he wasn’t going to call you and you really didn’t expect him to. You brushed it off not without a hint of disappointment… by which you meant that you might have, possibly, sort of spent an entire night sulking around your apartment, staring sullenly at your ceiling in silence for hours while even the nocturnal species known as reclusive teenage bloggers were on Omegle or Skype having a virtual life.

Needless to say when he went and _actually_ called you, you came dangerously close to losing your shit.

It was a little past 12:45 AM, when you woke up thinking there was a chainsaw under your pillow. You appropriately cussed the shit out of your phone before fishing it out and glaring at it like it just threatened to eat your first born child. “The fuck, _hello?_ What the fuck do you want?”

There was silence on the other end for so long that you promptly decided to hang up. You were so doped up on sleep though that you press the speaker button instead.

There was a sigh and then a strangely familiar voice was filtering through the silence of your room.

“This was stupid. Nevermind, I forgot you were just another average douchebag in the god’s collection of assholes. Otherwise known as the world population. “

And while you were busy staring at your phone like it’d transformed from doctor Hannibal threatening to feast on your unborn offspring, to Tony Stark propositioning you to join his company as a high-ranking CEO, the line went dead.

“Shit! No, wait!” you yelped as you fumbled to turn the lamp on and go to your call history. You hurriedly saved Karkat’s number and called him back, swearing at yourself the whole time. He picked up on the fourth ring and you didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until you sighed in relief.

“To quoteth the asshole whose name I still don’t know, what the _fuck_ do _you_ want?” came his voice.

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and you sat up, forcing yourself to be awake enough since this was kind of important. It _had_ to be if he was calling you at 1 in the morning.

“Ugh, sorry, just- dude…if this is who I’m assuming this is, why are you calling me at fuck-am in the morning?”

Silence met your question and you’re worried you were too asleep to notice that he hung up on you again.

“Karkat? Karkat you still there?”

A sigh. “Yeah, I’m still here fuckass.  And if I may ask, how the hell do you know my name?”

“I’m friends with one of the photographers for your little dance play or whatever it was. She told me.”

“Yeah, right, okay. I’ll just go ahead and believe that and make myself look even stupider than I already  do, standing out here , freezing my nuts off, talking to some creep I met half a month ago.”

“Is there a point to this phone call? because not to be rude or anything but some people need this thing called sleep.”

There was a long pause again before Karkat let out a breath that was just a tiny bit shaky. Your brain caught up to what it was given at that point and you frowned incredulously. Was he really _outside_? _Now?_ You leant over to part your curtain just to be sure and your frown deepened when you see the flurry of snow coming down outside.

“I really wouldn’t be asking you if I had any options but…do you have a car?” he asked, sounding considerably less karkat-ish

“Uh, yeah I do.”

“Can you umm…can you come pick me up? I’m kind of stuck at campus with literally no way to get home. I would walk but seeing as how it’s the second fucking ice age outside, I can’t.”

You were already out of your bed and heading to your closet before he even asked.

“Sure. Are you at the dance studio?”

You pulled up a few minutes later in front of the center for film and theater where he said he stayed late rehearsing with a couple of colleagues for an exam-recital thing. The idiot was literally standing shin-deep in the snow, all huddled up in himself in several layers of weather-inappropriate jackets that still weren’t enough to keep him remotely warm.

You rolled down your window and leaned over so you could yell at him. “I would ask but since you’re the only idiot around who could possibly be the brain-dead moron who called me earlier, I’d go ahead and assume  that’s you Karkat.”

He was so stiff from the cold you were surprised he was even able to lift a hand and flip you off.

You only opened the passenger door in response and he practically sprinted toward it. In his haste to get inside the toasty interior of your car, he clued you in on something he neglected to mention on the phone. His foot snagged on the door and he practically doubled over, biting his lip til it was white and clenching his eyes shut for a second. You frowned at him.

“Don’t tell me you were standing in subzero weather with a _sprained ankle_.”

“Calm your tits.” He replied, trying to sound flippant and utterly failing seeing as he practically spoke through his teeth. “It’s just strained. I pulled a tendon, I didn’t break it. I’ll be fine in two days tops.”

You shook your head. “Don’t be stupid, you look like you’re about to cry. Maybe we should stop by the hospital first.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, _mom_. If I knew you were going to flip your shit over something so stupid, I would’ve just stuck it out and walked home.”

“Then you would’ve been _stupider_ than I already know you are. Which really should be impossible because the amount of moronic you have in your body couldn’t be described by the greatest unit invented. Let me just tell you, the noob term would be _lots._ Lots and _lots._ ”

“This is only proving my point you know.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” You went back to everything he told you on the phone before you left and you used it as fuel to give him the lecturing he deserved, no, _needed_. “You stayed two hours more than you needed to do god knew what, seriously, you’re already a damn fucking good dancer I don’t know why you need to practice this long. You tell your ride to leave without you because you wanted to stay, and then you call up a guy you don’t even know for help. What if I turned out to be a sociopathic pervert who wanted to do unspeakable things to you and dissolve your remains so that no one would ever find them?”

To his credit, Karkat looked appropriately chastised, even if he did look pissed off about it.

“Well, you’re not are you?”

You sighed. “I can assure you I’m not but that’s beside the point. Something really bad could’ve happened to you.” 

“I didn’t have a choice okay?! Ugh, just take me home…please? I am forever in your debt if you would so kindly drive me home and do so right the fuck now so that my debt doesn’t transcend to several afterlives.”

You rolled your eyes but put your hands back on the wheel anyway. “Where do you live?”

He didn’t live that far as it turned out, but still. It would’ve taken him 30 minutes to walk and you were appalled to think that he would’ve done it with an injured ankle if it wasn’t snowing. You let him know as much as you turned on his street.  “Seriously, the hell is wrong with you?”

Karkat sniffed and turned away, his nose proudly in the air. “Assuming I’m correct about your background, I regret to inform you over-privileged, delicate upperclass snob-fuckers that lowly people like me who, for reasons your corporate-washed, money-oriented minds could not comprehend, chose to go into the arts field have lived with so much worse.” He snorted. “The worst you probably ever had to deal with was scraping your finger getting food out of your shiny expensive braces when you were a snooty chess-club kid back in your prep-school. I once had to do an entire routine with an injured hip, this is a fucking papercut in comparison so stop patronizing me.”

It wasn’t a lot but it was really impressive how much about you he figured out despite your very brief encounters a while back.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed or freaked out that you could craft an insult as elaborate as that from stuff that isn’t bullshit. Makes me wonder how much time you spent thinking about me, trying to figure me out in the time I hadn’t seen you.”

Silence.

“I-! you-! I didn’t-!”

You didn’t even take your eyes off the road as you smirked.

“…I don’t even know you!”

Abruptly, you pulled up to the curb and faced him.

“Sollux Captor, 24 years old, programmer.  I did happen to come from a privileged background but that doesn’t mean I’m a total douchelord. Case in point, I just saved you from hypothermia even though you gave me a concussion before I even met you. You’re welcome and nice to officially meet you.” You say, holding your hand out for him to shake.

“Wow, your parents are cruel, cruel people for naming a kid with a speech impediment as cringe-worthy as yours.”

“And yours are stupid for tacking together automobile and house pet and thinking it passes as a name.”

Karkat snorted. “Like I’ve never heard _that_ one at least half a million times before. You can’t be 4 years older than me, elementary brats have come up with more creative insults than you.”

“Such a nice thing to say to someone who basically saved your ass.”

You were only teasing but Karkat actually flinched.

“Shit. Right, well umm…thank you, I guess… I mean, thank you really…Sollux. I don’t know why you did but thanks for helping me.”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes when he said all this and he was suddenly so bashful he was practically twiddling his thumbs. He finally looked like he was younger than you for once and it pulled at something in your chest to see him so vulnerable, which he really must be in the ultimate sense of the word if he had to resort to calling people he barely knew to help him out because no one else could.

“It’s no big. Not like I didn’t get anything out of it.” He looked at you questioningly and you held up your phone, waving it around with a grin on your face. “I got your number. It’s not too late to be a creep with dishonorable intentions is it?”

Karkat looked at you like you were a fish trying to climb a tree, then he laughed.

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Anyway, consider your eternal debt paid. Being able to spam your phone with unspeakably sleazy, creepy messages is enough payment.”

Karkat hesitated before rummaging in his bag and pulling out a pen. “I’ll do you one better. My apartment complex is over there by the way.”

You inched the car up a tiny bit further down the street til your parked in front of his building and when you’re there, Karkat reached over for your wrist. He wrote something on it and before you could even glance at what it was, he muttered one last thanks and was out the door and speed-limping through the snow and into his apartment complex.

You turned the dome light on and grinned. On your wrist, stretching downward toward the crease of your elbow, were written what was obviously a pesterchum handle and times beside a bolded scrawl of :ONLY PESTER DURING.


	2. Chapter 2

It was pleasantly surprising how quickly the two of you eased yourself into a solid friendship within the next few months. It was everything you thought it would be. Yours was a camaraderie marked by petty fights and unrestricted snarking at each other. Your connection thrived on a mutual respect and unconventional fondness other people would find hard to decode from the bountiful plethora of insults the two of you threw at each other constantly. Perhaps you ought to be ashamed that the majority of your invectives against him are poorly masked attempts at flirting. You half-heartedly ignored your motives and your majorly growing fondness for him by telling yourself that you only did it because it was too easy and too satisfying to make him lose his angry composure.

You knew it was wrong to assume and it scared you to be wrong. You were aware that a decent percentage of artsy people were…more sexually diverse than most people. However, how quickly he got embarrassed every time you jokingly-but-not-really hit on him was really not a clear indication of…anything really. It was either he was flustered at the notion that someone who had come to be a sort of annoying older brother figure was shamelessly making advances on him… Or he was flustered because someone he could never be interested in was pursuing him and he had no clue how to let him off easy since he was actually a decent person who was sensitive to the feelings of those who deem it difficult to find a significant other.

You sincerely hoped that the latter was not the truth but you made no move to find out if you were right or wrong.

You didn’t dare push your boundaries, didn’t even dream of dropping everything and sincerely telling him how he had no right to lecture you and downright _baby_ you everytime you neglected basic human needs like sleep and food to finish a project. How you think a prickly asshole like him could not _possibly_ be a genuinely amazing person and stay with you even after finding out about your bi-polar disorder.  How you wanted nothing more than to reach through the screen and hug him when he told you that the reason he couldn’t stay to apologize to you the very first time was because he had a job to get to, one of two that he worked so as to make sure he had money for school and rent and food, money that he had to make himself because his parents, for some _fucking_ reason, had disowned him when he told them that he wanted to pursue dance because he loved it and he was _amazing_ at it.

How you worried like _hell_ right after he called you the first time and spent all of the following morning worrying if he was dancing on a strained ankle.

How you wanted nothing more than to see him dance again and openly gawk and admire him.

You didn’t dare tell him because for someone you’d only known for a few months, you were _stupidly_ scared of losing his friendship.

You were wondering how long it would take until you snapped and ruined everything between you two simply because you just couldn’t take it anymore.

 Much to your surprise, fate decided to smile down on you for once in your life.

The school year was almost over at that point and “Appease KK by listening to him bitch and moan about life as long as he wanted.” had taken up a permanent fixture in your schedule. Karkat had a big recital coming up that would, from what you understand, would not just determine a huge chunk of his final mark, but would possibly determine the rest of his future too. You stayed up numerous nights listening to Karkat hyperventilate over the fact that there would be some prominent figures in the Dance industry there and _‘knowing my luck, whomever I pissed off with my existence up there would screw me over_ a-fucking-gain _and I would totally choke!’_

It was more than ridiculous but Karkat was a natural born drama-queen and as such, it was no use trying to reassure him. When he called you at 8 PM on Friday night, you sighed and moved to your favorite chair, knowing it was going to be another long night of listening to Karkat rant and fuss over nothing. As soon as the line clicked, you knew something was wrong. There was a hitching breath and a hoarse, weak version of the voice you’ve grown so accustomed to in the past few months crackled through the line.

“Hello?” his voice cracked as he spoke and you frowned, leaning forward in your chair, prepared to bolt out the door and go get him if you had to.

“KK? Everything okay? Did you hurt yourself in rehearsal? What’s wrong?”

“C-can uh…Can you come pick me up? And if it’s okay…Can I stay over for a few hours?”

You couldn’t believe he even had to ask. Within the hour, you had him sitting curled up on your couch, munching sullenly on a cinnamon roll you picked up on the way for him. He accidentally let it slip that rolls from Cinnabon are one of his greatest weaknesses during a rant about the diet of a dancer and you had latched onto the information like a bee to fresh pollen.  

It took him about 15 minutes to even eat a quarter of one, taking long breaks in between to stare and pick at it. You were waiting for him to start talking but eventually you figured you probably had to push even if he was the one who asked that you come get him. You opened your mouth to ask but before you could get a word out, Karkat gingerly set his roll back into the open box on the coffee table and pulled his knees tighter to his chest.

“My mom came to see me today. I haven’t seen her since I graduated highschool.”

You frowned. The second part you were aware of. Karkat was raised in a borderline dystopian household, under the extremely watchful eye of his Polish-Sri Lankan parents. As the story always goes, they wanted him to pursue a high-paying career and promptly tossed his ass out when he naturally went to do what he was good at.

“What did she come see you for?” you asked.

Karkat bit his lip, his usual angry scowl breaking out from under the mask of sad he was wearing. He took a deep breath and expelled it in an explosive breath.

“I thought she was going to say sorry, you know…ask me to come home and shit…” he trailed off softly. Then his face contorted, fists clenching and for a moment you were afraid he was going to hit something. He scoffed bitterly. “I really wish I could have some way to contact the me of an hour ago to tell him how big of a naively moronic dumbfuck he is for even daring to bother with wishful fucking thinking.” He sighed again.

“…She asked me if I came to my senses yet. She told me if I drop out now, she and my dad were going to pay for my education, by which I mean the stupid Biology program they still delude themselves into thinking I was meant to be in. Then…you know, typical bullshit how I should be ashamed that _I_ tore our family apart, I was an ungrateful son, typical teen-angst crap.”

He bit his lip hard, but still you saw the way his lip trembled ever so slightly. You felt simultaneously furious on his behalf and incredibly sad for the wounded little boy you were now sure was hiding somewhere under the prickly exterior of his person.

“KK…” You said softly and the sound of your voice broke the dam.

Karkat angrily scrubbed at his eyes as if that could stop the tears from coming and he spoke through tiny hitches of breath punctuated by raspy sniffs.  “I don’t even know why I still feel like shit about it. I’m 20 fucking years old for fuck’s sake. This angsty emo my-parents-don’t-love-me shtick is bullshit I should’ve outgrown 8 years ago.”

Silently, you grabbed his wrist. Yes his parents were assholes, yes they were too blind to see that their son was fucking _amazing_ and they should be falling to their knees with how proud they should be of him. They weren’t worth his tears at all…but you knew, that Karkat knew, that that didn’t make it hurt any less to have the people who birthed and raised him abandon him, leaving him with no one to tell him that his worth was through the roof. Leaving him to show unlimited talent off in front of strangers, people who didn’t count. People who weren’t important.

“I heard it a thousand times before:  Karkat Vantas you are an ungrateful faggot and words can’t say how much I’m ashamed to have you as my son! How dare you be _born_ with the inherent ability to memorize movement at a great capacity _and_ the inability to find boobs attractive?!”

Your eyes widened and you were ashamed of the brief flare of happiness you felt, even if it got buried under the sorrow you felt for him as it became clear how bad the situation really was.

“Karkat…”

“I shouldn’t even be affected…I…I…why won’t they just leave me the fuck alone Sollux?”

Wordlessly, you inched closer and pulled him to you, crushing him to your chest. You let him cry and listened silently, emotions fluctuating between rage and sadness as he told you about exactly how it felt to never be good enough as he was, to be hated and disappointing for simply being himself. You didn’t say a word. Because there was nothing you _could_ say, nothing you could do but hold him and let him know that you’re there. That he wasn’t alone and that there were people who care and thought the world of him.

He cried for about an hour and when he’s calmed down, he pushed you away gently, scrubbing at the tear tracks on his cheeks with the sleeves of his shirt. He murmured a very soft thanks, patted you on the arm and then he was good old Karkat again. He punched where he patted and told you if you ever spoke about this impromptu, one sided feelings jam ever again he was going to gouge your eyes out with a plastic spoon.

He stayed long enough til he was sure he wasn’t there in case his mother came back to harass him some more. By the time he deemed it appropriate to go back though, it was almost midnight, so you insisted that he stay and sleep in the spare room. He protested against the idea, not wanting to impose on you anymore than he already had but you lured him in with a free access pass to your film collection and impressive home theater system. He fawned appropriately over the latter and gave you hell for sullying it with the former. The two of you had an extensive argument about what constituted as good movie taste and you were relieved to see him completely back to normal. So much that you were more than happy to compromise by the end of your debate.

Both of you took turns finding faults with the movies you picked but grudgingly accepted that V for Vendetta was good enough to please both of your cinematic tastes as you watched it in the ungodly hours of the morning.

Right before you went  to bed, you stood in the narrow hall between your room and the guest room. Karkat stood in front of you shirtless, in an old pair of sweats you owned that were rolled 4 times over so he wouldn’t trip on them. His eyes were downcast and he rubbed sheepishly at his arm as he spoke.

“Thanks again. You know, for everything.”

“Anytime.”

“I don’t…I don’t get why you put up with me and why you’re always there when I need you. But thanks.”

You stared at him for the longest time, your heart in your throat. Then you spoke, so softly you were worried he didn’t hear you.

“Despite the glaring lack of evidence, I know you’re smart Karkat. You can figure it out.”

And there it was. You’ve put it out there. You’ve pushed that extra inch, past the veneer of friendly hassling. You’ve dropped the bullshit because he just bared part of his soul to you and you stupidly felt obligated to return the favor. Now all that was left was to wait for Karkat’s reaction. He looked up at you with wide eyes, jaw hanging the slightest bit open. You wait out the longest few seconds of your life, feeling like you were standing with your toes jutting out of the edge of the highest cliff. Finally, Karkat looked away and you felt your stomach drop until he stepped forward, planted his hands on your shoulders and pressed closer, touching a chiselled chest to your flat, bony one and laying his cheek gently against the side of your neck.

“Night Sollux.” He said and practically bolted into the guest room, slamming the door shut in his haste to close it.

You didn’t know what that gesture was supposed to mean but you dared to think that it was something good.


	3. Chapter 3

The two of you grew even closer after that and it killed you that he never mentioned anything even remotely related to the little moment you two had in the hall. However he picked up the habit of inviting you over sometimes to watch him practice his routines or go with him to one of his jobs and making you sit there and watch him put kids through hell and back as he taught them hip hop. So you weren’t about to complain….yet.

He also seemed adamant on paying you back somehow because he felt like he owed you for letting him cry on your shoulder. You knew that’s what it was even if he claimed he was just being nice to make sure you never told anyone that he was capable of tears and feelings. He fussed over you even more, checking on you practically every hour to make sure you were eating, sleeping and taking your medication.

He kept at it even as you snorted and ridiculed his mothering by pointing out that while he was busy fussing over you, he ignored himself enough that once or twice, he had to call you to help him dump bags and bags of ice into his bathtub and drag his sore, sorry hunk of overworked, slightly undernourished muscle into it.

“Fuck off Captor, don’t you dare let loose another word on keeping healthy, look at yourself! You’re a walking _needle_. Holy fuck.” Karkat said from his position on the floor, doing some sort of stretch you guessed. His lower half was propped up by the wall, legs arrow straight and spread out in a wide V, feet pointed. It looked _acutely_ uncomfortable but you’ve seen him do moves that made you doubt he had a spine or joints so you knew he was fine.

It was July and his recital was in less than 2 weeks. Karkat for some reason seemed to be spending more time in your apartment every week than he did in the studio, working himself to the grave.  Which really couldn’t be true since he practically _lived_ there these days, what _was_ true, probably, was that he was nervous as fuck and being around you calmed his nerves down a little bit. At least that’s what you liked to think.

You scratched self-consciously at your collarbones, mentally berating yourself for wearing a wife-beater tonight. You were only helping him make his arguments.

“Look who’s talking, are you sure it’s healthy to be that short?”

Karkat slid his legs together and executed another one of his weird-impressive dancer tricks, arching his back and planting his hands on the ground so he could push himself up into a hand stand before kicking his feet against the wall. He did a sort of slow motion front flip, his body bending and straightening with grace and flexibility no male should have, ever. or even a female for that matter.  Once he was back on his feet, he crossed his arms and glared up at you dourly.

“I’m 5’5. I _don’t_ have a growth defect thanks. Besides, even if I did, I’d still be in way better shape than you! How much do you even weigh? 80 pounds?”

“120 asshole”

Karkat raised an eyebrow. “No fucking way.”

Then he was stomping forward and before you could even think to ask what he was up to, he had his hands around your waist and with a mighty shove, he launched you into the air, clamping his arms around your knees when he could reach them.

“Ah! What the fuck KK, put me down!”

“Yeahhh, you can’t be more than 110. I can probably toss you through the roof.”

“Okay incredibly retarded Hulk, calm your shit. Don’t break the human stick now and put him the fuck down.”

Karkat didn’t listen. The next thing you knew, there was a hand on your waist again and the split second that the other one clamped onto the other side, you get lifted above his head like an overgrown, incredibly skinny infant.

“Oh my fuck” you gasped, reaching down to hold onto his forearms.

“Oh my fuck right back at you. God, I swear you weigh just as much as Nepeta.”

“Okay, I get it, I’m a skinny twat. Would you put me down already? I know you have guns but I’m getting really scared here.”

“Please, I’ve bench-pressed shit that weighs heavier than you.” Karkat said with a roll of his eyes but obliged you nonetheless…sort of. He kind of literally tossed you into the air and somehow, when you came back down, he caught you with an arm around your back and under your knees, motherfucking bridal style.

“Wow, just strip me of every ounce of masculinity I have why don’t you?” You huffed although the bite to your words were off a little bit because, _god damn_. Here he was standing in your living room, carrying you like you were made out of air. You could feel every single hard line of his chest against your shoulder, his smooth, even breathing against your side and _oh sweet jesus_ , his stomach against your hip.

“ _Bitch_ please, like you even had any to start with. But sure, if it helps your tortured psychological profile any, here.” He then promptly dropped you on your ass.

“Ow! Oh fuck you, remind me again who spends most of his time doing splits, tippy toes and pirouettes, dressed in skimpy shorts?” You asked as you slowly got your feet under you, rubbing at your tailbone all the while.  Karkat pulled out his infamous sour face whenever you get a good insult in as you pulled up into a crouch and began to stand. His foot came down on your shoulder and he crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look like the very picture of an alpha male. It was absolutely ridiculous.

“You wanna go douchelord? Because knowing ballet doesn’t change the fact that I can hand you your ass any day of the week.”

You grabbed his ankle, keeping it to your shoulder as you stood, stupidly attempting to make him lose his balance until you were reminded there and then that he probably didn’t have ligaments either. His leg just straightened up and lifted as you did, til you were standing to your full height and his foot was almost above his head. No part of him moved an _inch_ and he still stood there on one leg, using you as a ballet bar whilst keeping his arms crossed, glaring up at you.

For one agonizing second, your imagination went crazy, constructing images of the two of you as you were now but under entirely different circumstances and exactly _how_ those circumstances would morph into other, intimate ones.

Suddenly you were too aware that you miscalculated your distance before standing and you were too close to him for comfort. You swallowed and your thoughts must have shown on your face because Karkat’s scowl faded. Then he simply looked as surprised and nervous as you did.

This was stupid, this was Karkat-romcom sickening cliché’ yet here you were, gazing at each other like you were both having a religious epiphany.

You’d be damned though, if you didn’t want to just complete the ridiculousness by pulling him to you and macking at his face like it was the end of the world.

“Um…” You began, abruptly letting go of his ankle like it was hot iron.

Karkat bit his lip and emotions flashed over his face so fast you didn’t manage to decode any but the last one.

Resolution.

“It’s a long time coming don’t you think?”

“What is?” You asked, suddenly dry mouthed

Karkat took lowered his leg from its perch on your shoulder and took a deep breath.

“This,” he murmured before grabbing your head and pulling it down to his height so he could mash his lips to yours.

Unlike what movies and novels tell the masses, moments like these really aren’t as glorious as they seemed. It was hurting your neck to be at the angle he’d pulled it in and for the most part, you were only awkwardly standing there, basking in the shock. You kissed him back just before he pulled away and you blinked down at him, slightly dazed.

“You…are so stupid. You’re totally trying to live out a romcom right now aren’t you?”

Karkat blushed furiously but didn’t deny it. “Oh fuck you, don’t tell me I was wrong and you haven’t been wanting to eat face with me for months!”

“You’re not bu-”

“And why the fuck are you so tall? Jesus fucking Christ, it’s obnoxious.”

“I’m not tall, you’re just, as I’ve pointed out earlier, abnormally short.” Reality caught up to you then and pushed by the ecstatic joy you could feel bubbling up in your chest, you bent down to kiss his forehead, the gesture more affectionate than it is condescending.

Karkat huffed and the next thing you knew, you were being man handled again. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist when Karkat lifted you to him this time and the next thing you knew, you were falling over and there was a couch under your back. Also, there was a Karkat straddling your front and that was what instantly held your attention.

“Just so we’re clear…you like me right?” He asked and you’re caught between snorting in amusement and smiling affectionately. For all the obsession he held with romance (which was a fact you still couldn’t quite believe) he was absolutely inept when it came to the real thing.

“What can I say, you hit me hard. Literally.”

“Oh my fuck, shut up.” Karkat said, smacking a palm over his face.

You chuckled. “See? I told you, you could figure it out.”

The hand lowered and then Karkat was looking down at you with the most vulnerable expression you’d ever seen on his face. “Does that mean that we’re…a thing then?”

“Do you “like” me back?”

“Did the kissing and the lifting and the me sitting on you right now not make that clear enough?”

You laughed. “Then yes, we are. Unless that’s not what you want.”

Karkat’s lips twitched as he tried to fight off a smile. Then he was kissing you again and this time neither of you were straining your necks and it was overall absolutely perfect.

Come his recital you were there for him, waiting in the audience with a bouquet of roses. In the three group numbers he was in, he outshone everyone. And when he did his solo, to music as [bold, powerful and unforgettable](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hL8EGxcL6j8) as he was, you could swear, he didn’t just own the stage, he owned the entire _theater_.  You watched it all unfold with a grin on your face, recalling the last few nights he stayed over at your place before tonight. You knew he would expect you to rub I told you so all over his face like the smug bastard that you were but you won’t. Not in this instant. For now, you were satisfied that he knew none of the confident assurances you murmured against his skin when you were curled together under your sheets were justified and that was that.

It took you forever to get a hold of him after the perfromances were over. People  swarmed him like he was the messiah of the dance world. Colleagues and professors congratulated him and some elegantly clad people, CEOs and company owners you assumed, practically lined up to shake his hand and try to get him to dance for them.

Which was a prospect you knew he’d be excited about so you waited patiently for your turn to give him a well deserved congratulations.

“So many people. So many people want me to dance for them. I even got an offer to join the Skaia ballet company, do you know how huge of a deal that is???!” was the first thing he says when you approached him. He looked halfway torn between shock and frantic excitement and you grinned, extending the bouquet to him.

“Congratulations. I’m so proud of you.”

You weren’t exactly sure…or perhaps you were, that the simple, overused phrase was the thing he craved, the thing he needed to hear.  It was true coming from you regardless so you said it.

He seemed to hear everything you meant in those 5 words. _Your parents threw away a_ fucking _star_. _It doesn’t matter though, because_ I _never would. I see you for what you are. Amazing. And all these people did too_.  _I am so, so fucking proud of you_. Because after they were out of your mouth, his lip trembled and his eyes were suddenly shiny. He grabbed the bouquet from you and threw his arms around your neck, where you ignore the wet warmth of a few tears seeping into the collar of your shirt. You hugged him back tightly, kissing his sweaty hair and murmuring the same words over and over into his ear.

“Fuck you, you got me a stupid bouquet of flowers and you act like a helicopter mom finally seeing her child ascend the highest rung of the over-achievement ladder.” He sniffed against your shoulder.

You only smiled in response and hugged him tighter.

“Thank you.” He whispered, pulling back a bit so he could kiss the side of your neck.

“You’re welcome.” You murmured back, just as softly.

“So,” you asked half an hour later, when sponsors have tried to recruit as many young dancers as they could all congratulations have been given away. You and Karkat walked slowly out into the night, hands shoved in your pockets. Well, at least, you did. Karkat tried that until he realized he couldn’t walk a step with the bouquet you’ve given him balanced precariously in the crook of one arm.

“You’re pretty much done now. Does that mean you’d be staying in your apartment or will you be running off to join some grand dance company in Europe or something?” You don’t look at him as you asked this and Karkat sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the blackness of the night sky.

“I don’t know what to do yet. They’re giving me a few months to figure it out anyway. So I guess, until I do, I’ll just keep putting kids through hip-hop hell and helping participate in blasphemy against the cinematic arts by assisting people in their quest to rent vomit-inducing “movies” down at the rent store…and maybe go out and get a roommate…”

A hand slowly slipped into the crook of your elbow as he said this and you paused turning to look at him.

Karkat was looking down at his shoes. “I’m getting really tired of my own shithive. Is uh…is your guest room open for rent?”

“Do I want to piss numerous dance companies off by stealing the prodigy they’re all fighting over and keeping him to myself? Hmm….let’s see, well, fuck yeah.”

Karkat looked up and grinned. “If you put it that way, I guess I’ll just stay in my apartment where I’m still free to have my future.”

“Don’t be stupid, _I am_ your future baby.”

“When did you turn into a total dumbfuck, oh my god.” Karkat asked, punching you lightly on the arm.

“Since you kicked me on the head. Promise never to do that again by the way and my spare room is yours.”

“No.” Karkat said, stepping close enough that his lips were practically brushing your chin.

“My rent could consist of unconditional affection and letting you gawk as much as you like when I do my stretches though.”

You smiled as he went ahead and kissed your chin. “Deal.”

Karkat reached up to splay a hand against the back of your neck and push your face down into a kiss. This time, you don’t mind the strain on your neck at all.

 


End file.
